


Of Cats and Dog and Spies

by Foodmoon



Series: Of Tea and Glitter Guns and Cats [13]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 00:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foodmoon/pseuds/Foodmoon
Summary: Alec and Bond finally cross paths at Q's.





	Of Cats and Dog and Spies

Q comes home early for once _(mostly because it’s his day off),_ to find Bond in standing not far from his door, peering down at the miniature mop of curls attached to his shoe by way of teeth in the leather. Bond looks vastly puzzled by this.  
  
“What are you doing?” Q asks, juggling a sack of groceries to punch in his codes and dig out his keys.  
  
“I’m not sure. What is _that?”_  
  
“A poodle.”  
  
“I’m fairly sure poodles are larger than that, even the small ones.” Bond objects in a dubious tone.  
  
“Well, it’s either the teacup poodle my neighbor claims or it’s sufficiently advanced technology that EMPs don’t work on it.” He admits.  
  
“So it’s not a mutant rat? And it belongs to your neighbor, so I can’t… _dispose_ of it for ruining a good pair of shoes?”  
  
Q shudders. “Please don’t. Then I’d have to listen to my neighbor go on for ages about how her poor dear Mopsy has gone missing, and how worried she is about the poor dear, and conspiracy theories on what happened to him.”  
  
“She actually named it ‘Mopsy’? How… apropos.”  
  
“Well, no. I think she calls it something terrifying like ‘Buttercup’ or ‘Butterfingers’. I can never remember.”  
  
“Make it a point to forget, do you?”  
  
“I might.” Q admits and unlocks his door. “Are you coming in? Don’t bring the poodle thing with you. I don’t want to be responsible for my cats eating him. Can you imagine the hairballs? There’d be curly vomit everywhere.”  
  
Bond makes a gagging sound and shakes off the miniature mop to step smartly inside. Q follows and hurriedly shuts the door before the would-be menace recovers from the shock enough to try to dart inside.  
  
In the kitchen, Q pauses to frown at the jar of raspberry jam on the island. Had he left it out? He distinctly remembers putting it away, but sometimes when he’s half-awake he just thinks about doing something hard enough that he thinks he’s done it and his eyes had been barely open when he’d left. No, this is a new jar, not his mostly used one. Obviously not from Bond, given that the spy had still been outside when he’d arrived. And he hadn’t seen Alec in the living room. Maybe Alec had been and gone? If another 00 has taken up invading his personal domain, he is going to scream.  
  
“An EMP, Q?”  
  
“It startled me.” He says defensively, taking groceries out of the sack. “And I had one in my pocket.”  
  
Bond nods like that’s just to be expected. _(But then again, he supposes reacting in a hostile manner to a perceived threat might be ordinary for a career spy. Not that the dog was an actual threat, but…)_ “I might have done something similar if I’d had anything non-lethal on me.”  
  
Q takes that to mean that Bond has something lethal on him, which isn’t surprising. What _is_ surprising is that Bond seems to consider his reaction fully justified and doesn’t take the chance to mock him. Bond has a sharp tongue and seems to enjoy putting it to use.  
  
He is mentally facepalming over the phrasing of that thought when there’s the sound of a toilet flushing from the WC, and Bond tenses while pretending not to. Well, no use someone getting shot because someone is twitchy. The bloodstains would be a hassle to remove. He remarks in a casual tone, “Ah, so Alec _is_ here. I wondered when I saw the jam.”  
  
Bond relaxes considerably but not entirely. He helps Q put away groceries with a casual competence that speaks volumes about how much he’s poked into Q’s cupboards before this. If he gave a damn, Q might be offended by it.  
  
Alec emerges from the bathroom and looks surprised at seeing them. “James. Q, you were not joking?”  
  
“No.” Q says shortly. “I did correct your assumption, if you recall.”  
  
“Joke?” Bond queries.  
  
“The doorman let me in the front the first time, so I assumed that by ‘Bond’, Q meant him.”  
  
Bond blinks, then says in a baffled tone, “This place doesn’t have a doorman.”  
  
“He means one of my neighbors.” Q clarifies.  
  
The puzzlement clears. “You mean Majordomo Reynolds?”  
  
Q squints at him. Trust Bond to remember a name. “You’ve met?”  
  
Bond shrugs. “Met. Investigated. Made sure all your neighbors check out.”  
  
Q gives him a dry look. “No bed thieves or cat murderers in the lot?”  
  
“Just a housebreaker who fences electronics.” Alec puts in absently. “But he is smart enough to keep his activities well away from his residence.”  
  
And Q mentally facepalms again, because Alec is so laid back off the job that he tends to forget that he too is a spy, with all those spy-like tendencies.  
  
“Mrreh?”  
  
Q looks at Rosey, who is rubbing against Bond’s ankle like a long lost friend, and promptly trips over Teagan, because the silver tabby, who is a solid chunk of elegant muscle and bone, is too quiet for his own good sometimes. Flailing and trying not to step on Teagan, his fall is arrested by a strong hand grabbing either arm. Alec has caught his right arm just above the elbow, and Bond his left bicep. He pauses a moment, breathing hard as he processes the near miss. Apparently two spies occasionally _are_ better than one.  
  
Disentangling himself, he crouches to reassure a now anxious Teagan who seems concerned that Q is acting funny.  
“You should have said something.” Q looks up at Alec’s voice, to see him giving Bond a smug little smile. “I can keep a secret, James.” Bond just raises a brow arrogantly. And okay, whatever that’s about, he’s not sure he wants to know. He takes it back. Two spies are definitely _not_ better than one.  
  
He clears his throat. “So, which one of you is making dinner?”  
  
At the very least, if he has to put up with them doing their little spy thing at each other, he can make use of them to avoid a close encounter with results of his own cooking.

**Author's Note:**

> The poodle's name is Beatrice. Q endeavors to forget every time he hears it, or some diminutive of it such as 'Trixie', because the dog is male.
> 
> Alec is referencing their previous conversation about James refraining from hurting Q.
> 
> Rosey is fluffy and grey, if you recall.
> 
> This pic is approximately what Teagan looks like: [Link](http://www.robocats.co.uk/ewExternalFiles/Silver%20Tabby%2014-1.jpg)  
> And since the pic is possibly copyrighted, here's a link to the site it's from, so you can enjoy more silver kitties if you like: [Link](http://www.robocats.co.uk/silver-tabby--silver-spotted-photos.html)
> 
> A little life trauma lately. It turns out that the 3-  
>  _( **gyaaah!** My cat snuck in and landed lightly on my leg, claw tips first, while I was typing this, and scared me out of my skin! I think she was slightly offended by my reaction.)_  
>  -boxes of Oolong I bought a while back are actually _100 packets each_...and I'm pretty sure they're _way_ too strong to be proper Oolong. I need more tea drinking friends to trade teas with, haha.


End file.
